Save Me From My Solitude
by Pasque
Summary: Fate will find a way... EC all the way baby. I got so busy this fic was kinda abandoned but now I'm back with a vengance!
1. Fate

Hey everyone, this is my first phanfic, so please… be gentle…

Chapter 1

A dull echoing silence had long since fallen over the de Chagny household. The Vicomte's chest rose slowly in sleep, his arm flung carelessly over his young bride. Christina lay squashed beneath the heavy limb. She knew it must be well past midnight yet sleep avoided her: the hot unwelcome breath of her sleeping husband irritated her neck, his crushing arm was mashing her breasts against her chest and his snores were entirely repulsive. Moving quietly she slid from the overbearing marital bed, found her robe and gratefully stepped out of the room. How she loathed this mansion. She had always imagined that she would be immensely proud to be the mistress of such a magnificent house, but she felt only melancholy here. She had heard the whispers of the servants; she saw the unfriendly glares of Raoul's snobbish family. Tip-toeing down the grand staircase she made her way to the library, picked up a book by one of her now beloved Bronte's and relaxed into the comfortable sofa. She stared at the words on the page but did not read them. _I truly must be the most ungrateful child in the world, _she mused_. I have married aristocracy, I have more splendid gowns that even la Carlotta at the height of her fame could imagine, and yet…_ Forcing her mind shut against herself she delved into the book with enthusiasm knowing that the sad and lonely Bronte's would not lie to her, in this book there would be no happy endings… happy, happy endings.

"Christine," a load, laughing voice awoke her rudely. "You silly girl you always sneak off here as if you had been refused permission, why you insist on reading in the dead of night when it is your own library is beyond me!"

_Ah dear, simple Raoul I imagine a great many things are beyond you, _she thought. "Good morning my dear." Noting his travelling attire she enquired, "Are you going somewhere?"

"Back to Paris," he said tightly, the tension in the room immediately thickened as both readied themselves for an argument.

"You may go to Paris but I may not?" Christina tried to force her voice to be light and nonchalant but anger coursed through her.

"You shall not set foot outside this town Christine I have told you,"he snapped. Seeing the anger mingled with hurt in her eyes he softened, "I am sorry, but you know that the stage is not the place for a Vicomtess. It simply isn't done."

Silence stretched between them, for once he found himself wishing that she would shout or scream at him, anything rather than ignore him. "I shall be back in two days time."

The continuing silence incensed him, their problems were all her fault anyway, how dare she sit there in her silence judgement and condemnation of him. Spitefully he addressed her as he moved to the door, "Perhaps some quiet rest would be beneficial to your _health, _Christine."

As the door slammed Christine felt tears come to her eyes immediately. _My health. My damned health. _She knew all too well what that comment meant. During their three year marriage, not once had Christine conceived the heir that the de Chagny's so desperately wanted. They had never broached the topic in conversation, but Christine was only too aware of where the blame lay. He blamed her, but then, she blamed herself too. Raoul's mother had taken great delight in informing Christine over dinner, in rather a severe lapse of etiquette, that the male line of de Chagny's had always been considered particularly virile, Philippe himself had produced seven children, four of them boys, always the more desirable sex to a powerful family Christine though wryly. Christine had smiled politely, ignored the inferred slight on herself as an unworthy wife and informed the guests that she would be retiring early that night. Yes, children were the one thing Raoul wanted more than anything from Christine, and she remained unable to provide them for him.

Discarding the book Christine rose from her makeshift bed on the sofa and summoned a maid to her accompany her to her room to dress. Without Raoul's watching and seemingly always disapproving eye on her she decided to travel to the music shop in town, she was not permitted to sing anymore (it appeared that even singing in private was not done by a Vicomtess) but what man did not want an accomplished pianist as a wife? With her musical training Christine had acquired the skill fairly quickly but today found herself both short on music and needed the skills of a piano tuner.

The music shop was situated in the town square, it was a small shop but every nook was crammed with perfectly crafted instruments and volume upon volume of diverse scores, Christine browsed idly for a while before selecting Vivaldi, clutching the precious papers to her chest she wandered over to the piano M. de Jere had displayed. "Sir, "she gestured coquettishly. "May I…?"

M. de Jere smiled, at least three time a week the young Vicomtess would enter his shop begging new acquisitions from him and always practising furiously on the piano before deciding, her devotion to music and her growing skill were impressive and endearing to him. Having lost a daughter roughly her age a year ago he felt very fond of the young pianist. "Of course my dear."

Removing her gloves and carefully placing them on the polished hood of the piano Christine seated herself, arranged the music and began to play. The melody washed over her, the music seemed a little beyond her usual level but she managed quite admirably. So absorbed was she that she failed completely to hear the tinkling of the shop bell signifying the entrance of another customer. She had just finished the piece and was gathering the sheets when the leisurely applause of the man behind her caused Christine to swivel on the stool. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Angel…" she breathed

Eek… scared author here! Just wanted to warn you all that I do not accept flames. I really hope you enjoyed that and if anyone has any positive feedback I would love to hear it. Please forgive any lapses in grammar/spelling as I am working without my BETA for the moment, love Pasque XXX


	2. Getting to know you

Hi, please forgive any times when Christine appears as Christina, its my sisters name so its hard to get out of the habit of typing it lol! Hope you're enjoying the fic, I promise it will get more exciting in time just keep checking back! Also I am trying hard not to make this a stereotypical fic that trashes Raoul just for the hell of it (don't get me wrong I am very anti-fop) I just wanted to try and make it realistic by having normal problems in their marriage.

chapter 2

Erik found himself frozen as he entered the shop. The music was relatively simple by his standards, Vivaldi if he was not mistaken, and yet it was played with a passion and desperation that he had previously heard only in himself. M. de Jere had music specifically ordered for Erik that he had come to collect and yet he found himself forgetting why he had come here. All he could see, think and feel was her. That wretched, innocent, beautiful, traitorous, beloved girl of his. He heard her speak her old name for him, Angel, and instantly came crashing back down to earth. She was not his, she was the Vicomte's, and having been married three years by now he assumed she was most certainly not innocent anymore. Yet here she sat, like an apparition in from of him, tiny body hunched against the piano in awe of him.

"Christine," he whispered. He wished he hadn't spoken. To say her name was very simple… yet what to say next? He corrected himself with a small hint of spite in his voice, "Vicomtess de Chagny."

To his surprise she flinched at the title, "Don't," was all she quietly said.

"Ah Erik!" M de Jere bustled back into the room. "So glad you're here my fellow, oh… I'm sorry, do forgive my rudeness, allow me to introduce you, this is the Vicomtess de Chagny."

"Yes we've met, "Erik murmured but nonetheless bowed low to her. Christine felt her face flush uncomfortably, to watch the man who was once her maestro, her master, bowing to her was unbearable. She stood so quickly that her customary clumsiness overcame her and she tripped over the stool landing ungracefully on her behind and sending the music scattering across the floor.

"Oh!" she exclaimed embarrassed. _Dear sweet Jesus, let me just evaporate now _she prayed silently as M. de Jere and Erik both rushed to her side. Erik extended his hand to her and without hesitation she felt her own grab it and allow herself to be gently helped to her feet.

"Madame, are you hurt?" he asked with genuine concern, but beneath that she could see his mouth twitching with suppressed laughter. Realising that nothing was to be gained from trying to ignore this embarrassment with haughtiness she allowed herself to laugh at her own expense and reply, "Only my pride." She brushed herself down and rearranged her voluminous skirts, suddenly wishing that M. de Jere would leave her alone with her Angel.

"Clumsy as ever Christine?" he asked wistfully. "I rather thought you might outgrow that."

"Apparently not," she said gazing at him thoughtfully. Their eyes met and explored each other's silently, each pondering the years that had passed and wondering what the other had done. Where have you been? Have you thought of me? A thousand unanswerable questions hung in the air between them.

The sound of M. de Jere awkwardly clearing his throat broke to silence, "I wasn't aware that you two were acquainted."

Christine froze, unaware of how to answer before deciding to brazen out the situation by flippantly explaining, "This man was my tutor at the opera house in Paris until he kidnapped me and attempted to kill my fiancé due to his growing obsession with me."

M. de Jere stared at them both. Christine was unreadable, coolly regarding him and Erik was staring wide eyed and open mouthed at her. After a moment M. de Jere burst into laughter, "You have the most bizarre sense of humour my dear! You spend too much time locked up in that gloomy old house, get your busy young husband to take you out and show you off a little more often!"

Christine shrugged amicably and Erik could see her amusement shining in her eyes, he understood and admired her honesty: why lie when the truth is simply unbelievable?

M. de Jere continued to speak unaware of the tension between the two musicians, "Actually it is rather agreeable that you should decide to visit today Erik."

"And why is that Monsieur?" Erik asked politely. He had only returned to the small provincial town about a year ago and during that time had come to frequent the small music shop so often that he had developed a friendship with the kindly old owner.

"The Vicomtess here has requested my services as a piano tuner but I'm afraid I am unable to leave the shop today, I'm sure it would be possible for a man of your skills to assist the young lady"

The old man's gesture was meant for her benefit but Christine felt her heart stop. What on earth would Raoul say when he found out? She was ashamed to admit that she found herself beginning to not care about her husband's opinion, all too often to her he appeared petty and vindictive: so much lay hidden beneath the veneer of sweet kindness she had once loved. Yet to be alone with her old tutor seemed dangerous; her mind swam with images of his face distorted in anger and hatred as she had pulled of his mask that first time in the cellar, as she had revealed him yet again to all of the Opera house, as she had left him broken and crying in the ruins of his home to run away with her fairytale Prince.

Erik's voice cut through her reverie as he replied, "I'm afraid that solution would not be acceptable to the lady, we did not exactly part on the best of terms" Christine stole a sideways glance at him and saw that as he spoke his last comment his eyes had flicked to hers in sadness and resentment.

"Nonsense dear fellow," M. de Jere dismissed his protests, "You are both my friends and I have come to know you very well, I see no reason why you cannot get along, besides it is the obvious solution, you shall need entertaining anyway I'm afraid as your music hasn't arrived yet."

"Now go on with you both I have much work to do here," he hustled them both gently out and Christine found herself standing on the street, her once maestro staring blankly at her as if unsure what to do.

She smiled suddenly, "Your name is Erik?"

He nodded slowly, realising that to her he had always been Angel, Phantom, Opera Ghost… or his personal favourite: Master.

"I never knew that."

He cursed himself for his inability to reply. How could she slip so easily back into conversation after three years apart, let alone the disastrous way they had parted?

"Erik, would you tune my piano for me please?" she asked with such sweetness and innocence that he longed to shake her roughly for daring to ignore the terrible circumstances of their departure. He forced the feelings down, he had long ago sworn to himself never to touch her in anger.

"Of course, Vicomtess," he bowed formally in acquiescence and followed her as she began the short walk home towards the looming mansion he saw in the distance.

"Please do not call me that," she begged softly unable to look at him. "You were once my master, to her you address me that way and bow to me… feels wrong."

"Seeing you a married woman feels particularly wrong to me and yet I have to learn to live with it" she said shortly.

"Where is your husband?" Erik asked abruptly.

"Away."

He nodded slowly and behind the mask she saw his dark eyes processing the information, she silently damned herself for having given him any details, however slight, about Raoul. She knew Erik's deviously fast mind, she knew that he would be quick to see through the glossy yet thin layer of exterior happiness that covered the de Chagny household making them appear cheerful and very much in love, the perfect young couple in fact.

They walked in silence, she felt strangely nervous about him seeing where she lived: he would hate it she knew, after all she did and she knew that they shared much the same taste. The furniture was all antiques handed down generation to generation of de Chagny's, the stuffy, over dressed rooms, the air of claustrophobia and the stuffed dead animals that were grotesque to her yet it seemed to be Raoul's greatest pride to butcher a stag and see the poor creature's head mounted on the wall. The only room that Christine had been allowed to show her personality in was the joint library and music room: her sanctuary.

Erik allowed himself to glance surreptitiously at Christine as they walked; she has been very much changed by marriage he could tell. She looked older. Her face appeared un-aged but her expression, always serious, looked now to be exceptionally sad. He worried instantly that she was not happy in her marriage but immediately pushed the doubt from his mind: she had married her charming, handsome Vicomte and been allowed to leave the monster in the darkness unscathed, of course she would be happy.

"What are you doing here?" she burst out.

They both stopped walking, she appeared just as shocked as he at her outburst.

"I'm sorry Ange- Erik, I do not mean to be rude I just… I have never seen you in town before."

"I was born here," he replied quietly. "After the Opera, I saw no reason not to return."

"You were born here?" she asked incredulously.

Annoyed at her surprise he snapped, "Yes I was born here, what, did you think that a monster like me would be spat out of hell rather than born a helpless babe like everyone else?"

"Erik why do you always do that?" she exploded. He gazed at her in shock, this was not the meek, frightened, agreeable Christine that had followed him to his lair, sung his opera and offered to sacrifice herself to him for the sake of her fiancé, this was an angry, forceful young woman. "You always take everything so personally, as if I were seeking to insult you. All I meant was that I rather though you would have been born in a city, most people with such talent and culture are not born in the provinces!"

With that she turned on her heel and continued to walk quickly up the long drive towards the front door. Erik stared dumbfounded after her before coming to his senses and catching up with her in a few long strides, "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"It's quite alright, "she said distractedly. "Wait here," she instructed. Erik stood awkwardly in the massive foyer as Christine disappeared down one of the numerous corridors. In her absence he took the time to look with a critical eye over the de Chagny house. The building was ugly enough in itself, the design made his architects instincts repel and long to tear the building down brick by brick. The furnishing, even just in the foyer, was ostentatious and had more than a hint of a museum about it, clearly this was a house intended to show the enormous wealth of the family rather than make the occupants feel comfortable.

Erik sighed deeply, it had been a mistake to come here, he didn't want to see Christine here. She didn't belong here, not here among the ugly mounted carcasses of stags and owls. God how he hated the aristocracy, they hunted, they guzzled wine and rich foods, they smoked cigars and complemented each other on their pretty young wives. Not one of them had a soul as far as he was concerned, but for Christine to become one of them… that was unthinkable. He had not freed her from the prison that was himself to see her imprisoned in a cold, empty house.

During his musing she had returned, "Follow me quickly," she ordered. He did so, only to be lead through room after hideous room until finally coming upon a door that she practically pushed him through. Once inside he could not repress a smile, so, his Christine was not dead and buried beneath the façade of a respectable Vicomtess after all. The room was a mixture of music room and library, and she kept it in the same appalling state of mess that she had kept her dressing room at the opera house in. Music scattered the floor and the surface of the piano whilst books lay open on the sofa and desk. It differed so much from the gloomy, dark rooms of the rest of the house that he was in no doubt that she had personally instructed how it was to be decorated: the walls were a rich blood red, he felt slightly plagiarised as he looked at the dark, stained wood furniture that had clearly been inspired by his own. In the corner was one of the most beautiful pianos he had ever seen, the instrument was a full grand piano, sleek, black and covered in sheet music. The furnishings here were soft and plush, obviously designed for comfort. He wondered briefly is she did indeed sleep here for a number of cashmere blankets were thrown over the sofa carelessly, but then he thought of the idiot boy.

_If Christine were my wife, she would spend every night in my bed, in my arms, I would make sure of it. The boy may be an idiot but I'm sure he does not deny himself her. _As he took in the heavy velvet drapes that were tightly drawn across the windows, blocking out all light, he remembered where the place reminded him of.

"You seem to have created your very own lair," he laughed mirthlessly.

"Do you like it," Christine asked softly.

"Why does it matter if I like it?" Erik replied bluntly.

He saw hurt in her eyes and ignored it. Instead he shed himself of his cloak and gloves and moved to the piano, he struck a chord and winced slightly. It was indeed a beautifully crafted instrument, but she was correct in her request for a tuner. He set to work instantly, raising the lid carefully and examining the insides.

Christine watched silently. _What did I expect? A hug and a kiss? It has been so long, I have changed so much. So has he. Three years ago his lack of attention towards me would be unimaginable. Not that I am seeking his attention, it's just the done thing, the polite thing. How dare he make me feel so insignificant in my own house, my own hated house. Would it kill him to make conversation with me, I want him to talk to me._

"Erik."

_For God's sake woman why can't you leave well enough alone, _he screamed silently. _I have done my best to forget you for three torturous years and then I turn around and here you are with your bloody husband right in front of my oh so beautiful face._

"Why won't you be nice to me?" came her small voice.

Furiously Erik spun around from his work, "Be nice to you? Bloody hell Christine I haven't seen you in three years, I have fought with myself everyday to keep from tracking you down, stealing you from under your ignorant husband's nose and murdering him in front of you! I have had the only true home I've ever known destroyed by the mob you brought down with you that night at the opera, I gave up the only woman I ever…" he trailed off as if exhausted by his own sudden anger. "And now you want me to be nice to you? Well what do you want me to say, I am doing what you want am I not? I believe you brought me here to tune your piano not to comment on your husband's abysmal taste in soft furnishings."

He turned his back on Christine and quickly finished tuning the piano. Closing the hood he tried the same chord again and was pleased to hear the perfect harmony fill the room. He turned around and immediately wished he hadn't. Christine stood before him, her eyes filled with tears that she desperately ignored as she spoke to him, "Please Erik… I'm truly sorry you know I am, just please, stay and have tea with me, talk to me. Please."

Author is begging you to review. I'm sorry if it is leaning towards crapness but I truly promise it will improve. Love Pasque XXX


	3. Loneliness

Hey guys, thanks very much for all the reviews so far, hope you enjoy this chapter and if you do please let me know as I am an author inspired by reviews!

Chapter 3

"Erik please, "she begged again.

He eyed her warily and saw her face as he had never seen it before; tired and drawn yet sincere and inviting. Her eyes were honestly beseeching him to stay and within them he saw warmth directed towards him that she had never had before.

"I will stay," he told her with a thin smile as he set down his cloak and hat once more and took a seat.

"I am so glad, "she said sincerely, she made as if to grab his hand in a gesture of happiness but nervously thought better of it. "Er… I'll fetch the tea," she excused herself with some embarrassment.

As she left Erik mused silently once more over the changes he saw in her. He knew suddenly that he would be entirely incorrect if he were to address her as "child" the way he used to, she had matured awfully quickly in her personality, her mannerisms, even the honesty she had shown towards him. He tried to force his heart still as he thought of the obvious wish she had for him to stay with her for a while.

_It doesn't mean anything, calm yourself man. But if this is another one of her indecisive moments which she will later regret as she flees to the arms of the idiot boy, I shall go completely mad._

He soon found himself bored as he waited for her to return with the tea and picked up her discarded book. _Bronte's Wuthering Heights, the child certainly has matured! I remember when she could not be persuaded to read anything but fairy tales. _Idly he picked up reading where she had left off and was, as always, captured by the wild spirit of the moors depicted in the novel. He became so engrossed that he barely noticed as Christine re-entered the room bearing a tray of tea things, he jumped as she appeared in front of him.

"Oh do you like Bronte?" she asked eagerly, relieved to have some safe subject of conversation as she knelt before him setting down the tea tray on a small coffee table.

"Very much so, although I admit I am surprised to see you reading such things, whatever happened to your fairy tales?" he teased gently.

"Oh the fairy tales, "she laughed as she remembered the hours she had spent curled in an arm chair in front of the fire reading her childish stories as Erik composed on one instrument or another. "You should have explained to me that they could never come true," she told him smiling sadly.

Erik gazed at her and felt his heart clench at the infinite sadness he saw in her eyes. Perhaps part of him had thought she would stay an innocent, happy child forever, but then, it was common knowledge in society that ever since the talented violinist Daae had died his little daughter had become irrevocably melancholy. _Yet she never seemed this sad at the opera, she mourned her father then as she always will, but she wasn't this sad with me._

All of a sudden he desperately wanted to hold her, to tell her that other things besides fairy tales could make her happy, that she was silly to be so young and yet so miserable when there were still innumerable things she could choose to do with her life. He felt the palms of his hands literally itch to touch her hair but luckily a familiar scent in the air distracted him.

"Russian tea?" he arched his single exposed eyebrow at her in amusement.

"Yes, I do seem to have developed a taste for it," she admitted. "Perhaps it reminds me of you."

Christine inwardly bit her lip. _Good God what possessed me to say something so entirely inappropriate! Please for once could I just stop being clumsy and saying stupid things, just for ten minutes, just whilst Erik is here, please? _

Erik had chosen to kindly ignore her last obviously unintended comment, but inwardly he couldn't stop the million questions that exploded in his mind. _She drinks the tea that I always drank, and she does this to be reminded of me? So that means she wants to be reminded of me? Does she miss me? Does she regret her choice? Does she want me in her life again?_

Eventually he couldn't help but comment, "Christine one of these days you really will drive me entirely mad you know."

Christine blushed as she served the tea and handed him a cup which he accepted with thanks. She watched him nervously as he drank, "Well you seem to have mastered the samovar," he smiled.

"Yes, although don't you find it surprising how few people will actually drink it?" she said thoughtfully.

"It is an acquired taste," he agreed.

One knock on the door and Christine had sent her own cup flying as she leapt to her feet. The door had already begun to open as she raced across the room to intercept this unwelcome presence. She opened the door slightly, allowing no view into the room and its other occupant.

"Yes what is it?" she asked rather impatiently.

"Vicomtess I have come to clean the room," came the puzzled voice of a maid.

"Chloe, now is actually an inconvenient time as I am practising," Christine said gently beginning to close the door against the prying eyes of her staff, "Be a darling and do it for me tomorrow would you, thank you!" She finally shut the door and as a second thought locked it before turning around and leaning her back to it as she sighed heavily in relief. But when she opened her eyes she was astounded to see that Erik had risen to his feet and was glaring dangerously at her. She had forgotten how intimidated she had always felt in the face of his anger. She felt herself instinctively shrink back against the door in alarm.

"Erik whatever's the matter?" she exclaimed.

"I do not wish to take tea with a lady who is so ashamed of her choice in friends that she feels she had to conceal them from her own servants," he seethed.

"Oh Erik no, no, no!" she cried aghast.

Wildly she grabbed at his sleeve and attempted to hold him back as he tried to move towards the door. She pulled valiantly, trying to explain, "Please listen Erik, you have to listen to me, please!"

Impatiently he easily swatted her restraining attempts away, thinking how strange it was that he should force her clamouring hands from his arm when a few years ago there would be nothing more appealing to him than the thought of Christine clinging desperately to him. He strode towards the door willing his ears to be deaf to her pleas, but she tried to grab at his clothes again in effect sending herself stumbling to the floor as he kept on moving.

At her small, shocked cry of pain Erik's anger immediately faded and he was appalled to see her laying crumpled on the floor, crying softly, "Please Erik, it wasn't like that I promise, only please let me explain. Please don't open the door, you shall get me into such trouble!"

"What trouble, "he snapped, trying hard to fight against his instincts which were screaming at him to lift her from the floor and wipe away her tears. _Damn it, why must she look beautiful even as she cries?_

"Please Erik, I am not ashamed of you, truly I am not. But you see… I am not allowed to entertain… uh…male visitors." She looked at the floor upon which she sat as she spoke, now that she had voiced her husband's rule out loud it did seem rather stupid, especially in front of Erik who she knew thought disdainfully of Raoul anyway.

"You not allowed to…" he repeated dumbly. He seemed to process the information for a moment before calmly stating, "Christine that, even by your ignorant husband's standards, is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever heard."

Christine shrugged her shoulders helplessly, she felt embarrassed and ashamed all at once, and wished desperately that she had not given Erik this telling insight into her marriage. Because suddenly, with Erik there, it somehow seemed much more petty and small minded of her husband.

Erik reached out a hand to her which she accepted gratefully as she got to her feet. _Well this is the second time already that I have tripped over, I do seem to be making as big an idiot of myself as possible. And why is it always that much worse when it's in Erik's presence, I hate so much for him to see me this way._

"So, does he think you sleep with every man you meet?" Erik asked her bluntly.

She immediately pulled her hand back as she gasped, "Erik you mustn't say such things to me!"

"And why not?" he grinned wickedly at her shock.

"Well, it's just not very appropriate, to say such things in front of a lady," even as she admonished him she heard the giggle creep into her voice both at the thought of Erik's forthright way with words and her husband's silly jealousy.

"Surely if anyone has the right to say such shocking things to you Christine it is I, "he said lightly as he relaxed once more. "Having once abducted you from a Parisian stage I am surprised that I am still able to shock you, surely we will never be able to top such a scandal."

"Yes it was definitely the highlight of my operatic career," she agreed in mock seriousness.

"Honestly though Christine," Erik turned sombre once more. "You are not allowed to choose your own house guests?"

She shook her lovely head and gave him a weak smile as she tried to pretend it didn't matter to her. It didn't work, for an actress she made a surprisingly terrible liar. She couldn't stand for him to see her like this, subservient and controlled by petty rules, locked up alone in her prison of a home. She opened her mouth, but found herself left with nothing to say. She stared at him, expecting sneers at her husband and cruel recriminations.

Instead he said quietly, "You must be very lonely."

Hey, hope it wasn't too bad. I really don't want this to be a stereotypical story, so many of them have Raoul bashing Christine around the second they're home from honeymoon and whilst many of those stories are well written and enjoyable I felt I wanted to explore a different kind of problem in their marriage, just two people growing up and realising that they want completely different things, and that they are not as well suited as they thought, and what that happens they are bound to say things to each other that are unkind etc. Please please give me some feedback as I really love hearing what you think. love Pasque


	4. Home truths or wicked lies?

Hey guys, I have decided to play around with POV so bare with me, I think it makes it a much better read, much easier to cleanly express emotions when the words are actually in a character's mind. I shall try to remember to always state in capitals at the beginning if a chapter who's POV we are reading from.

Chapter 4

CHRISTINE

For a moment I considered putting up a pretence. I could so easily ask Erik what on earth was he thinking? I was a Vicomtess: a social butterfly, I relished the few moments of solitude I actually managed to snatch. But that would be a lie. And lying to the Angel of Music was futile. Something in those strange eyes could see through lies like air.

Yet somehow I knew that it would feel wrong to tell Erik that I was unhappy. To me it felt the same as if someone had given me a gift that I hadn't liked and was too polite to say so. Erik gave me the freedom I had wanted so ardently, allowed me to leave the ruins of the opera house in my love's arms and be whisked away from him, he who loved me, despite the pain it must have caused him.

"I do get lonely sometimes, but then, nothing can ever be perfect Erik, I am sure you know that."

He looked at me so intensely, I fought the blush that wanted to rise in my cheeks, I felt naked under his gaze, he was searching for something in me I knew.

"Why are you not allowed visitors Christine, more to the point why did you bring me here if you knew it was against the so-called rules?"

I could hear the mockery in his voice and the sneer as he spoke his last word. "I don't know," I sighed. "I suppose I was lonely, it was such a shock to see you after all this time, I wanted to know how you were."

He gave a short burst of laughter that was tinged with sadness before lowering his face into his hands. I watched his fingers rub his mask and bare cheek thoughtfully. "I am the same as always Christine, but you seem very much changed."

"Yes, I suppose I am," I speak wistfully and regret it as I see the worry in his eyes.

He leans forward and speaks to me desperately, "Christine, confide in me, please, tell me why you are so sad."

I just can't let this happen, this is far too personal. At times I hate those eyes that see so much, they see through me now as I try to lie.

"I don't know what you are speaking of, I am perfectly happy! Do I not have everything I ever wanted?" I challenged him.

"Maybe you wanted the wrong things," he said harshly, I could see his temper rising again but for once didn't care.

Yes I was unhappy, yes I was starting to realise my mistake, and yes I realised I had missed Erik very much. But no, I was certainly not prepared to admit that to him, I didn't want him to know that my mistake had left us both unhappy, I didn't want his sacrifice for me to have been in vain.

"Well I think you are mistaken," I said haughtily and instantly regretted it. I may have been a Vicomtess, an aristocrat, but I knew that in no real way was I superior to Erik, and he certainly had never displayed any respect for classes. I knew he was perfectly capable of addressing a beggar or a Queen in the same tone, charming or condescending depending on what he felt they deserved.

I saw his eyes narrow in anger, "You are an incompetent liar, Vicomtess," he hissed. "Why would you lie to the man you once called Master?"

"You are not my master any longer, " I rose to my feet and moved to the piano, I began to arrange music papers just to give my hands something to do, anything to distract from the argument, I had never really had an disagreement with Erik and it make me sick to my stomach.

"No, no I am not," he agreed also standing to his feet. "The Vicomte is your Master now, and he certainly does seem to enjoy exerting his power over you doesn't he? Christine, please tell me," his tone softened, his anger seemed always to drain from him as quickly as his temper was roused. His hands gestured helplessly, "Is that it, is Raoul unkind to you, is he cruel?"

I felt my own temper rise now. It was anger at myself, for whilst it was true that my husband had his bad points, I did too, and the discontent in my marriage was my fault. My traitorous, malfunctioning body's fault. But the anger saw a perfect target in Erik, to have him here only highlighted to me the fact that I was unhappy, it was rubbing the joys of what could have been in my face. "Oh you would love that wouldn't you!"

At my harsh words and raised voice I watched his face change, he looked shocked, he stared at me as if he didn't recognise me. I advanced on him slowly, aware that my angered cries were getting louder and louder. "I think that would be perfect for you Erik, exactly what you want: Raoul to be cruel, to make me miserable, to hurt me, beat me so that you could swoop in here and be my hero, show me that I chose the wrong man. Well I hate to disappoint you but my husband is a good man, a kind man. The better man, and I love him." I finished spitefully.

I was now standing face to face with him. So close that if I wanted to I was sure I could count every one of his eyelashes. I could smell his cologne and the scent evoked such memories in me that I wanted to throw myself on him in tears. He was staring at me in utmost horror. I knew that most of what I had spoken was probably untrue, I had spoken in anger and although only seconds had passed I was already starting to regret it; but on his face I saw that even the thought of what I had accused him of was utterly repulsive to him. The shock and disgust faded from his face and the usually unreadable façade slipped back into place. Wordlessly he brushed past me, retrieved his cloak and hat and left the room.

Left me there alone.

For a few minutes I stood rooted in the same spot, entirely still. And then my legs would no longer support my body, my knees gave out and I crumpled to the floor in tears.

The sobs that wracked my body hurt me as I expelled them, my cries rising into a crescendo of painful wails. What had I done?

Kinda short chappie I know, but a fairly intense one I think, please please r and r!


	5. Intruding on my pain

Chapter 5

CHRISTINE

Two weeks have passed. Two weeks during which I have neither seen nor heard from him. I feel that I should rip the lying tongue from my own wicked mouth. To say such things, such hideous things, oh how could I have done that? Why could I not just bring myself to admit the truth, why did I allow my childish pride to stand in the way?

I have spent the past fourteen days wandering around the village hoping to catch a glimpse of his tall, broad shouldered frame, just the glint of sunlight off his white mask, anything to reassure me that I had not driven him away with my cruelty. If he has left the village, if he has fled leaving me here alone never to hear from him again then I shall surely die.

I have cried myself to sleep every night. Raoul is accustomed to visiting me once weekly in my chambers to exercise his rights as a husband. Romantic isn't it? Oh yes, I am perfectly slotted into his schedule, just like his business meetings and his fencing practise. This week I can truly say I dreaded it. I nearly choked on my own tears, the full crushing weight of a man upon my chest pinned me to the bed, I simply turned my head to the side and let the pillow absorb my tears. Of course I knew that Raoul was perfectly within his rights to want me and I knew that it was absolutely unacceptable of me to even think of refusing him. He was always gentle with me but I had begun to realise that the act had lessened in pleasure for him, probably since he now realised that our union would not result in an heir.

Sometimes I truly pity Raoul, he once thought me so perfect, and how much that misconception has cost us both. He married a child, he married Little Lotte: Little Lotte perished along with her Angel of Music in the cellars of the Opera House. I often wonder if my husband even likes me. The real me. Christine.

I lay alone, in the aftermath of our carnality. My body felt sticky to my fingers and my skin was stiflingly hot despite the midwinter season. As usual Raoul had left as soon as he was finished with me, with a polite kiss to my forehead and wishing sweet dreams upon me. It always struck me as hilarious how formally he acted towards me after such intimacy!

I flung back the covers from the bed and walked barefoot into my bathroom. I sponged my body, sighing in relief at the cool and soothing touch of water on skin. After I had cleansed myself I slipped on an equally clean chemise, I was about to return to bed when the view from the window caught my eye. I strolled over and looked across the quaint village. It was set in a sunken circle encompassed by four mansions on raised land. My own was one such building, the two either side of me were owned by equally wealthy, aristocratic families as my in laws, and the one opposite… Well the one opposite was owned by Erik.

After the first week of my vigil I realised that I was not the only friend Erik had here, although I don't think I have any right to call myself that anymore. M de Jere knew Erik, the two had seemed well acquainted at the music shop and it had not been difficult to persuade him to disclose his address. So it is not as if I don't know where he is. I know exactly where he is, but I don't know what to do. I can hardly just walk up, knock on his door and apologise, I know it seems the logical step, but the things I accused him of were just too terrible for that. I could see his house, in all probability he was not even a mile away. I have considered many possible avenues: I could write him a letter, but I know that in his anger he is likely to throw it in the fire without glancing twice at it. I could send a servant to tell Erik that the Vicomtess de Chagny demanded his presence at her estate – but then the poor messenger would be lucky to return alive! Yet as I stood, watching rain softly begin to fall I knew what I had to do.

ERIK

Two weeks. Two weeks without that wretched girl before my eyes. Surely I should not miss the sight of her so much, after all I had survived without her for three years. I had survived very well in fact; I had returned to my birth place, Boscherville, I had reacquainted myself with the architectural industry and I had settled quite comfortably into my new life. But then suddenly there she was again, before my eyes and back inside my mind. I know that in many ways she never really left, but I had been able to dim her memory down into something bearable, something that did not torment me throughout my waking hours and on into my dreams. I have long since lost track of the time, nothing seems to hold my attention tonight: numerous books lay discarded on the table as do dozens of musical scores I have attempted to entertain myself with. Nothing works. I have been avoiding the village, avoiding her. In fact the only people I have seen in the past fortnight have been M. de Jere who kindly delivered the music I requested from him and my housekeeper Marie.

It was my housekeeper who entered the room now, "Erik," she spoke my name softly. The few visitors I have had to my estate have often asked me why I allow my one and only servant to call me by my first name, the fact is that Marie Perrault had been a friend of my mother's and perhaps the only woman who had ever been brave enough to look upon my face with only the slightest vestiges of fear clouding her expression. I had returned home to find her nearly destitute and automatically taken her into my home. Strangely I didn't find her presence annoying, I had thought that after years of much desired solitude under the Opera house I would not be able to bear company and yet I found her more than bearable… pleasant even. She was as kind to be as she had always been, and I could not help but feel some amount of affection towards the woman who had fought so valiantly to draw my mother attentions to my better talents: my music, my drawings, anything rather than my face.

"Marie," I reply wearily. "I do not need anything, thank you; you may retire for the night if you wish." I can feel her looking at me and I feel vaguely ashamed, I am slouched in a chair in front of the fire with my shirt collar open and a half empty bottle of liquor besides me.

"Erik," she said again and I could hear that certain firmness creeping into her voice. "You have been inside all week, you should go out, take in some fresh air."

"Open the window," I told her sarcastically.

"Erik," she said sharply. I sighed into my hands as she moved to sit in the chair next to me. Her voice softened as she saw the tiredness and the sadness in my face, or rather half of my face. "What is it child?"

I so wish Christine could be here to hear me called that, to hear me called child. To see that I also had to be looked after, to be helped, to be cared for. That I had not always been this way, not always been a cold and murderous man but had been a scared and tortured child myself once.

"Marie," I repeated sadly. "The girl… from the opera house. She is here."

"I see," she said slowly. "Why would an opera singer be out here in Boscherville? "

"She is married."

"Oh," I saw the dawning light of comprehension in her eyes and suddenly found myself babbling to her.

"I came all this way to leave her rid of me forever, so that she could have what she wanted, and now I turn around and she's here in my town! I was here first damn her!"

"Well," the woman said gently as she took the glass from my hand and placed it on the table. "Things are not always that simple, God has a reason."

I laughed hollowly, Marie knew full well my feelings towards religion, "And what, pray, was God's reason for allowing me to be born alive?"

Marie just gazed at me sadly, "You sell yourself short as always. Perhaps this girl sees something in you that you cannot allow yourself to see."

"Perhaps, but then perhaps she saw something in me that caused her to run screaming into the arms of her Vicomte." I heard the spite and bitterness in my voice but couldn't stop it; I regretted it when I saw the pity and pain for me in her lined face. "Marie I am sorry," I said softly as I stood and offered her my hand to help her as she stood herself; I saw the effort in her aged bones. "Go to bed, I shall be fine I promise you."

She walked slowly out and I felt bad for worrying her. I remembered her small acts of kindness towards me as a child, such as my one and only birthday present and wondered perhaps if things would have turned out differently for me if she had been my mother. I was dwelling on these thoughts when I heard a noise from the next room. I jumped to my feet and grabbed the heavy glass bottle of brandy with a mind to smashing it gleefully over the head of any intruder. The sound came from my library and my temper flared up as I thought of all the instruments I kept in there, God help any one who had been stupid enough to touch my piano. I flung the door open and I actually felt my mouth fall open in shock. I composed myself quickly though and asked, "Christine, why are you straddling my window?"

Well that's another chappie done, I'd really appreciate everyone letting me know what they think of the new POV's, feedback is my drug! Love Pasque


	6. The Truth

CHRISTINE

It took me much longer than I thought it would to cross the village and make my way up through Erik's estate to his house. It had appeared deceptively close through my bedroom window yet it took me an hour to walk there, when I finally arrived I was wet through from rain and freezing. No sooner had I arrived but I had realised that I had no idea what to do, I couldn't exactly just knock on his door could I? So for some insane reason I took it upon myself to climb through a window, my theory being that he couldn't slam the door in my face if I was already inside.

I had pulled the heavy window up with much effort and managed to swing one leg over the sill and into the room when much to my dismay the window had slid down just a fraction but enough to trap my body half in and half out of the room, with one leg either side! I was half inclined to laugh at myself as I imagined how ridiculous I must look, but that inclination fled as I heard footsteps. I closed my eyes in a grimace expecting shouting, recriminations and quite possibly threats but when his voice came it was cool with just a hint of amusement beneath the surface.

"Christine, why are you straddling my window?"

"Ah…well, um. Erik, I know this doesn't look good," I began.

"On the contrary my dear, it looks exceedingly good to the window I imagine," he relaxed sinking into an armchair apparently contend to watch me wriggling in my futile attempts to escape.

"Oh Erik really!" I exclaimed. "Must you joke at a time like this?"

"Yes I must," he shot back and for the first time I noticed his appearance. He was rather more dishevelled than I ever remember seeing him, his thick black hair was slightly mussed, his shirt although clean, well pressed and in the traditional wrap over style was hanging open quite widely at his chest and in his hand was clenched a half empty bottle. I can't recall ever having seen him drink before and although he didn't sound particularly intoxicated I noticed that his movements were slightly slower and less graceful that normal.

"Erik have you been drinking?" I asked seriously.

He burst out laughing much to my chagrin, "Vicomtess de Chagny are you attempting to lecture me whilst stuck half in, half out of my window in a very… compromising position?"

"Oh just stop laughing and help me will you?" I said exasperated.

"No."

"What? What on earth do you mean no?" I demanded. "You can't just leave me here."

"And why not? You are not exactly my favourite person at the moment Vicomtess, you hurt my feelings, and don't you know that even monster's have feelings?"

"Please don't call yourself that." I told him quietly. I was still working to free myself from the window, spurred on by that fact that I had realised that in my precarious position my dress had ridden up and was exposing the complete length of my leg, even the top of my stockings was visible and I felt my cheeks begin to burn.

Erik was watching me closely and I knew he took in the sight of my blushing face; he must have noticed the reason for my shame and stood, albeit a little shakily, put the bottle on the floor and walked over to me. I was relieved, convinced that he was going to release me from my window-prison, but in fact all he did was carefully take the hem of my dress between his long pianist's fingers and lower it so that it fell to my calves, leaving me decent. I noticed that he deliberately averted his eyes from my legs, instead gazing, slightly unfocussed, at the wedding right that adorned my left hand. He also took cares not to touch the skin of my thigh, and in fact he looked thoroughly embarrassed himself.

"Thank you," I said softly.

He was silent, gazing down at me, still pinned to the window sill. "Erik, please, it's starting to hurt," I whimpered.

The second he realised that I was not just embarrassed at being stuck like this, but in actual pain, the situation ceased to be funny to him and he lifted up the window effortlessly and extended his hands to help me fully enter the room.

"Thank you," I repeated as I stood, finally in the warmth of his house.

"You shouldn't be here," was all he replied, releasing my hands and lurching uncertainly away from me. He retrieved his bottle and then indicated that meant I should follow him. I did so and found myself in a beautiful lounge full of rich, passionate colours and fascinating objects that reminded me of Erik's former home by the lake. He threw himself heavily into a chair by the fire and gestured for me to do the same. Grateful for the warmth of the roaring blaze I neglected a chair in favour of sitting directly in front of the flames on a thick Persian rug. We sat in a surprisingly comfortable silence for a few minutes as he drank and I fanned out my hair, waiting for the heat to dispel the dampness.

"Why are you here?" he finally asked in a resigned tone.

"You know why."

"Perhaps you've thought of something even more hurtful to say?" he said with mock seriousness.

"Please don't, you know I have come to apologise and beg your forgiveness. I am truly so, so sorry." I said miserably.

But he seemed uninterested in apologies and brushed mine aside, "Why would you be sorry, you only spoke the truth?" With that he took another great gulp of what, by the smell, I now judged to be brandy.

"Erik please stop drinking," I requested softly.

"Why?"

"It frightens me."

He paused for a moment, staring long and hard into my eyes before jumping up and flinging the bottle with such sudden violence that I screamed as it smashed into the fire with a small explosion. I scurried quickly away as he roared, "Now are you frightened?"

"You should not have come here," he continued angrily. "You have said your piece, now just leave me alone."

No Erik, I can't," I cried, tears falling now. "I can't because what I said was untrue, I was ashamed to tell you the truth, please listen to me."

"Speak," he granted before sinking back into the chair as if his sudden eruption had exhausted him.

"I… I said the most cruel things to you I know… but that is because you were so close to the truth when you guessed the source of my unhappiness. Raoul does not beat me, he would never do that I assure you. More to the point I promise that I would never stand for it, I would break my marriage vows and leave him before I ever allowed myself to submit to that. But, nonetheless he is the one that makes me miserable, and I him."

I stopped, watching as Erik absorbed this information. "Christine…" he breathed. "Why?"

"God I don't know," I sighed heavily, still crying. "I just, I don't think I am what he thought I was. And I am certain that I did not know him as well as I ought to have when I agreed to marry him. I underestimated how important his family were to him… or rather, how much more important to him than me they are."

"Poor, miserable Christine," Erik said sadly, and I was shocked to realise that he wasn't being cruel, he wasn't being sarcastic, he was being sincere.

"Erik," I started slowly. "I know I was cruel, I said wicked, terrible things and I assure you that I knew them to be lies even as I spoke them, but please can you bring yourself to forgive me?"

"Yes mon ange," he said heavily. He stood and walked over to where I was still partially crouched on the floor in fear, he offered me his hand and led me to a chair where I sat down opposite him. "Of course I can forgive you. I did not realise just how unhappy you are. But I admit I still cannot comprehend why. What I mean is, I saw how much the boy lo-, how much you meant to him… why would his affection for you wane?" I caught the catch in his voice, he was unable to acknowledge the fact that Raoul loved me. I fought hard against the tears as I tried to answer his probing questions this time with honesty, no matter how much it hurt me.

"Well," I said dryly. "It appears that I am not so perfect as you and my husband once believed as you both fought so ardently for me."

"What do you mean?" he asked warily.

"I… I am incomplete," I choked out. "As it were… "unable to fulfil the duties of my sex", as my mother in law once put it when she thought I was out of earshot. Completely unable to provide my husband with the heir he so craves, and it seems that without that ability… I am useless to him."

Well there ya go, sorry for the delay in post I had big comp problems. I just wanted to clarify that my Erik is not specifically Leroux, ALW or Kay based, rather a mixture of the two. I like the 2004 movie image of the Phantom (yummy Gerard Butler), the anger and volatile nature of the original Leroux, but I like softer nature of Erik we see in Kay's book and so she is my main inspiration for this. Hope you're enjoying it, please please let me know, I love reviews!

Pasque


	7. Would it have mattered?

Well aren't I naughty just abandoning this fic? Do forgive me but uni commitments got in my way, but now I'm free all summer, I really hope I get some reviews for this fic, enjoy people!

Chapter 7

There was silence in the room save for the sound of flames licking at the logs in the fireplace. Erik was staring with an inscrutable expression into the fire, his long fingers supporting his chin. Christine had lapsed into a sad reverie, gazing into the distance with eyes shiny with unshed tears. He turned to her slowly, after her confession she had drawn her legs up to her body and now sat huddled in a foetal position. He noticed how delicate she was, her entire form was dwarfed even by the chair in which she sat. That petite and beautiful form help a defect that was making her life as miserable as his own external defects had made his. Her fingers were entwined with one damp strand of coffee coloured hair, twirling it dreamlike around her index finger again and again.

"Would it have mattered to you?" she asked suddenly in a dreamy voice.

Erik looked up sharply. Before he could answer she interjected quickly, "You shouldn't answer that, it doesn't matter now."

He stared at her thoughtfully before ignoring her last request, "Who would want another little me running around?"

She smiled sadly. "I would. I've always wanted a baby. I think perhaps, he shall leave me eventually. What should I do then, could I come and live with you?"

"He won't leave you," Erik told her wearily, forcefully refraining himself from dropping to his knees and begging her to stay with him forever. "It's against his religion."

"I'm sure the church will allow it," she said bitterly. "They wouldn't be so cruel as to bind him to a ba- a barren wife," she choked out.

"Don't say that," he said, truly appalled.

"But it's true. Perhaps if you had known that you would've been some other chorus girl's angel," she mused.

"Now you're being ridiculous," he said sharply. "My love for you has nothing to do with your reproductive organs," he added snidely. "If you hadn't married such a bloody idiot it wouldn't matter to him either."

"It's not an unreasonable request of a wife though is it, to be able to bear a husband's children." Christine rose to her feet in anguish. "Erik what am I going to do?"

"Christine!" he shouted, standing and striding over to her. "Raoul was nearly strangled trying to win your love, do you honestly think he would not want to be with you just because of this?"

"Erik you don't know him," her temper matched his. "Neither did I at the time, he wouldn't have given me a second glance if he'd known what he now knows." She turned her back to him and covered her mouth with his hands. From her posture he guessed she was crying and stood helplessly watching her. "Christine," he whispered. "Please don't cry child, please."

Sniffing and taking a deep breath, Christine wiped her eyes before turning to face him. An unnatural smile adorned her face, "I have made my peace with you as I intended, we are friends now are we not?"

"Yes, but-" he started confused.

"Well that's fine then," she interrupted. "Perhaps I can call on you again?" She offered him her hand.

He automatically took it and pressed his lips to her knuckles all the time protesting, "Christine wait don't you want to talk about-".

But she was already sweeping out of the room and towards the front door. She turned and offered a trembling smile to him, "Goodnight mon ange."

"Christine it's the middle of the night you cannot walk home on your own," Erik said exasperated. He grabbed a cloak and followed her out of the door. "I shall escort you."

She stopped and for a moment looked as if she were about to protest, but then relented and offered her arm to be entwined with his. Anytime she was escorted anywhere it was proper for her to take a gentleman's arm, but it never occurred to her that this was the first time she had held Erik's arm. He noticed. He noticed as he noticed everything about her. As they began the walk he felt her small fingers lightly gripping his forearm and relished the pressure.

It was obvious to him that she intended to act as though her small outburst had never happened. He was shocked to say the least, and saddened for her, she deserved contentment and here it had been cruelly snatched from her. But he was truly angry not at fate for dealing her a bad hand as it were, but at the boy. The boy to whom he relinquished his care of this fragile girl, the boy whom he entrusted to love her always. And at the first sign of any imperfection in the prefect doll, his affection had all but disappeared. _Bloody noblemen. _Look what they had turned her into, she was too well trained now to say what she felt, how miserable she was, without being ashamed of it and wanting to pretend it never happened. She was creating a perfect veneer to cover her imperfect life.

"Christine," Erik began cautiously.

She smiled sweetly.

"Please do not upset yourself again, but please just know that you will always have a home with me, a place to go should you ever need it."

Christine stared at him, she had expected him to curse her husband and her own stupidity in marrying a man she hardly knew, and she would not have blamed him. "Thank you," she said softly, giving his firm arm a gentle squeeze of appreciation. "May I – may I come and see you again, tomorrow perhaps?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course," he said. "There will be a man there," he began.

"Oh if you have company –" she said embarrassed.

"No, no," he said quickly. "He is a friend of mine, he is coming to stay with me, his son is very ill. You would enjoy meeting him I'm sure, you'll come?"

"If you're sure I'm not imposing."

"Of course not," he reassured her. "I – I have missed you," he ventured.

"I have missed you too. You do realise, I shall have to lie to Raoul."

"That does not upset me."

"No, no I rather felt it would not, I just wanted to make sure that you would not mention this to anybody."

"No," he sighed. "I shall not "get you into trouble" as you put it.

"Please, can we agree that neither of us shall mention Raoul, or my… my , uh, problem."

"If it pleases you," he said faintly. _Goddammit woman just talk to me, I would not condemn you for your problem, you know that. _

"Oh I am excited!" she squealed so suddenly that he had to laugh at her enthusiasm.

"Why are you excited my dear?"

"Oh because of you of course! You shall be my friend and I can have some one to talk to, it will be so wonderful!"

Erik could not bring himself to point out to her that companionship for her would be permanent torment for him, forced to witness everyday what he could not have for his own. How could he destroy such happiness after witnessing her anguish earlier?

"Do you go away a lot?" she asked worriedly.

"Away, why no, why should I?" he was surprised.

"I thought all men went away on business a lot," she said careful to avoid her husband's name.

"I suspect that depends upon the man, and the business."

"So what do you do?" she asked giggling. "You have a large home, and expensive tastes I know, you must do something besides haunt to earn a living."

"I do lots of things," he said teasingly.

"Tell me," she said petulantly.

"I build things."

"You build things. Things like…"

"Things like buildings."

"Oh really, must you be so exasperating? "

"I am an architect Christine; I design buildings, and occasionally help with their construction."

She stared at him with awe, "Really?"

He laughed softly, "Yes really Christine, how did you think buildings were made?"

"Well I don't know," she pondered, "I suppose it makes sense."

She seemed to be absorbing this information as they walked through the deserted streets of the town.

"You must think me very silly," she said quietly.

"I certainly do not, why on earth would you think that?"

"Well, you are so… so clever! And I…. I believed you to be an angel… like a silly child believing in fairy tales."

At her downcast expression Erik stopped walking and turned her to face him. "I never thought you were silly, I thought you were a very confused, very sad, and entirely too trusting child. And now… now you are very much grown up. It's a shame, I had hoped… I had hoped you would have a very happy life, and I thought that by letting you go I was giving you that… how wrong I was," he mused.

"Well…. I'm sure I could never be so clever as to design a whole building. Tell me, have you built anything I have seen."

"Yes," he said slowly. "The Opera House."

Christine froze. "Our opera house?" she said incredulously.

"Yes," Erik nodded. "The Garnier, Monsieur Garnier was a friend of mine at one time, we worked upon it together. Did you never wonder how I was able to move unseen around it, how I came to have a house under there?"

"Erik I… you built the opera house!" she was astounded. "It was the most beautiful building in the world. And then… oh Erik how could you have destroyed it?"

He shrugged. "I have a bad temper."

"That is a considerable understatement."

"Perhaps… but do not worry, it is restored in all it's former glory now I can assure you, in fact it is more beautiful that ever."

"What do you mean?" she paled.

"The restoration," he repeated impatiently. "It was completed months ago."

"No, there was to be no restoration."

"Christine, wha-, what are you talking about my dear girl, the restoration plans were commissioned immediately after the fire, the work finished just months ago."

"Oh… I see. I was informed otherwise."

An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair as they walked up the driveway towards the de Chagny mansion. "Why Christine?"

"What?" she said rather rudely.

"Why did your husband," the title was still a hiss from his lips, "lie to you about the opera house?"

"I was going to return there. I was going to sing a requiem… for us. He told me that it was a ruin and too dangerous to enter, and would remain indefinitely in such a state." Christine admitted, her cheeks flushing red.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said softly. "It's not your fault. Even I hadn't realised the full extend of the boys stupidity," he added as an afterthought.

She smiled faintly and sighed. "What a mess I am in Angel, what a mess."

There, sorry if that wasn't too great, just building up though I promise. Please don't forget to feed the author. Thank you.


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